Expectations
by Nieninqe
Summary: He was the point man. It was his job to know everything. How in God's name then, had he allowed such an important piece of information to get past him? Arthur/Cobb friendship; set during the Fischer job.


**Title: **Expectations

**Author: **Nieninqe

**Summary: **He was the point man. It was his job to know everything. How in God's name then, had he allowed such an important piece of information to get past him?

**Rating: **T

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Inception_ or any of it's plots, characters or settings.

..:..

He was the point man. It was his job to know everything. Nothing should be able to surprise him, as he should always be one step ahead of everything and everyone.

He was sure he had gone over every single detail he could possibly get his hands on. He had spent _weeks_ simply learning about their mark. He knew his entire extended family, he knew that he preferred blondes to brunettes, he knew that every day he ordered a grande black coffee from Starbucks, and hell, he even knew that the guy's favorite color was orange and that he'd had a golden lab named Zeus when he was 11.

How in God's name then, had he allowed such an important piece of information to get past him?

One would have thought "trained against Extractors" would have been something that would have caught his attention.

It frayed at his nerves, making him uneasy. Details were his thing. If he couldn't even get that right, what good was he? This was easily the biggest job they'd ever worked on, and he'd made a fatal mistake. The violent projections now viciously hunting them paired with the fact that a bullet in the head meant limbo instead of waking up (_that _was not his fault, but it made it worse nonetheless) left him feeling in a daze.

With hands that shook ever so slightly, he reached in to his pocket and pulled out the little red die, crouching down and casting it on to the floor.

_Four._

Really, it should have made him feel better. This was a dream. He'd wake up, feel like an idiot and learn from his mistake. But this time the mistake in the dream world was as horrifying as a mistake in reality. No turning back, no do-overs. His team members were faced with the possibility of a lifetime in limbo thanks to his apparent carelessness.

Well, Cobb and Yusuf would have partial blame as well, but without his slip up, theirs wouldn't have mattered so much. It was easier to avoid dying when there weren't highly trained projections shooting mercilessly at you.

As he brought himself back up to his full height, his eyes kept wandering over to the red stain that was slowly spreading across Saito's shirt.

_His fault._

The damage he had caused so far was obvious, and he felt his stomach drop as he wondered what other sufferings would come because of his ignorance to possibly the most important piece of information within this job.

Cobb was furious. Actually, furious was an understatement. He was going ballistic. But Arthur stared him straight in the eyes, completely stone faced, as he was hurled insult after insult, knowing that what was being said was true. This hadn't even remotely been a part of the plan.

If anyone could be blamed for their current situation, fingers could undisputedly be pointed at Arthur.

He had braced everything Cobb had thrown at him. The words had stung, but it wasn't exactly as though he had been expecting the warmest reception once everyone realized what had happened. Or more specifically, what had gone unnoted.

"_Oh gee Arthur, you didn't realize his subconscious would have an army come after us? That's all right buddy, we all make mistakes. We all forgive you for putting our lives in danger, and I'm sure Saito will too if he's mind isn't a giant mush ball by the time he's made it out of limbo."_

After he and Cobb had gone in to interrogate and shake up Fischer (well, at least they trusted him enough to handle_ that_), they had time to kill while Eames went in to play his part.

The rest of the team stood huddled by the van, both keeping an eye on Saito and making sure they had everything in order for the next level.

Considering everything, Arthur really should have joined in on the conversation, but he just needed a few minutes to himself. He moved to the back corner of the warehouse, and slid down the wall, his hands raking in to his immaculately gelled hair.

His totem once again found its way in to his hand, and seeing as he hadn't noticed that his team members' conversation had ceased, the only sound to be heard throughout the space was the clatter of the die as it was cast upon the cement.

_Two._

_Five._

_One._

He didn't really know what he was expecting. He knew this was a dream, but a dream with realistic consequences; an unfortunate situation where the difference between dream and reality couldn't ease your nerves. He supposed he was doing it out of habit. Uncertainty almost always lead to the acetate die in his hand, whether or not it would clear his head.

Unsatisfied with the results (or lack of) the totem was giving him, he settled with gripping it tightly in his fist. He touched his now white knuckles to his forehead and closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

He had to control himself. His wallowing would do the team no good whatsoever. His mistake had been made, and now it was time to remind them that he was capable. He was a proper point man (no matter how his own opinions really went on the matter).

Pocketing the die, he stood up and straightened himself out. Running a hand over his hair, he pieced back his façade of control and order. He had let his mask slip when he had realized how badly he had messed things up, but now it was time to get back on track. There was still a job to do, and now that it was becoming more difficult, he had to get back in the game.

Straightening his jacket, he made his way back over to his coworkers, his eyes hard and his jaw set. His determination so steady that he didn't even notice the slight looks of concern being shot in his direction.

..:..

The job was done.

Whether it had been successful or not would not be seen fully for some time, but everyone was fairly confident that it had worked, basing their opinions off of the far off, thoughtful look in Fischer's eyes.

Arthur made his way to the luggage carousel in order to retrieve his workbag and empty suitcases. His mind was still reeling.

Seeing Saito on the plane making the phone call to clear Cobb's name had been the greatest relief imaginable. At that exact moment he had pulled his die out of his pocket and rolled it four consecutive times on a tray. Four sixes.

It was relieving to see that his fears had not been realized, but the feeling of failure still could not be shaken. The fact that the fear had had a reason to exist at all was quite a blow.

He was broken from his thoughts as a figure bumped in to him. He felt something slip in to his hand. He looked up to see Cobb shooting him an apologetic look.

"Sorry, didn't want it to go back around. This damn thing takes forever," he explained as if to a stranger, grabbing his bags and heading off without a second look.

To a lot of people, such a disregard of comradery would have seemed insulting, but not to Arthur. He knew how this gig worked. Once the job is over, you know longer have the slightest clue who your team members are. Break all contact. Act natural. After all, they were technically criminals.

He was therefore completely surprised when later, out of the way of prying eyes, he unfolded the small piece of paper, ripped from a napkin, that Cobb had inconspicuously shoved in to his hand.

_Bar. Two blocks west of hotel. Green sign. 7:00._

He had to read over Cobb's distinct chicken scratch for a few moments before he realized exactly what the nine words implied. He thought it was clear that the team was supposed to spread out as soon as a job ended; the two of them had certainly obeyed this rule for years. Yet now, Cobb was suggesting that the two meet up on the same night (in the same place) that their job had occurred.

He shrugged off the weirdness as he checked the terminal's clock. 5:47. Enough time for a quick trip down to his hotel to check in and change, then head off to the bizarre meeting. He vaguely wondered if the others would be involved in the get together, but he knew that while this was out of the ordinary, more than the two of them would be downright stupid.

..:..

Arthur checked the sign above the door briefly, verifying its color, before stepping inside. Without a word, he moved to the back of the bar, finding a booth tucked away in the corner occupied by one man cradling a beer in his hand. Across from him in the vacant spot, a cup of black coffee sat, still steaming slightly.

The point man couldn't help but feel his heart warm lightly in brotherly affection. The little things like Cobb remembering that Arthur hated drinking alcohol (it distorted the senses; made it difficult to focus and perceive, something he was very uncomfortable with) always filled him with respect and fondness for his longtime partner-in-crime (pun intended?).

He was, however, reminded of the same friend that had hours (days?) ago been flagrantly pointing out his blames as though the evidence were not solid enough. Arthur's face hardened slightly, not at the harshness of that moment (he had completely deserved it), but now realizing that he was almost certain that was what this was about. Cobb had blown a fuse and would now try to mend it.

He slid in to the empty seat, taking the cup of coffee in his hands.

"Shouldn't you be at home?" He asked, lifting an eyebrow. It wasn't something to be mistaken as distaste for company, simply distaste for where he knew this would go. After all, Cobb would never simply allow him to wallow in his mistakes.

"Miles and I agreed that it might not be a bad idea to stick around for a night before heading home" he replied smoothly. He paused, placing his beer down on the table and running his hand across the back of his neck.

"Look Arthur, I never got a chance to…"

"Don't." The response was curt. He kept his eyes downcast to the blackness of his drink.

"Cobb, if there's anyone that should be apologizing, it's me" he sighed, shaking his head.

"How could you have known?" Arthur's head shot up at these words. His eyes narrowed. Cobb instantly realized that this had not been the right thing to say. After years of working together, he knew that there was an art form to quelling the point man's insecurities and issues—an art form he had just disregarded.

"How could I have known? How could I have _not _known? Especially something as serious as that! Cobb, you were right back there in the warehouse; everything you had said was true and I accepted it. Why are you trying to take it all back?"

There was a brief silence as Cobb calculated his next words carefully.

"You've really got to stop acting like this, Arthur." Well, that certainly wasn't how he had expected this to go. He waited patiently, eyes clearly showing interest in what he would say next.

"You're not a machine. You work so hard to show the world your professionalism, your efficiency; and trust me, the effort hasn't been lost on anyone. But you can't keep tearing yourself down at the slightest mistake." Arthur opened his mouth to protest the fact that it had hardly been a _slight_ mistake, but the shake of Cobb's head stopped him.

"I must admit, you're not alone on that though." Another question mark raised in the point's head. "I often forget with how well you do everything that you're human just like the rest of us. And I'm sorry for that. It's not fair of me to expect so much of you, just like it's not fair for you to expect so much of yourself."

Cobb hoped he had played his cards right. He was still shaken that such a slip up had occurred, but he had realized soon after the falling out that it wasn't fair to blame everything on Arthur. Why hadn't any of the other's noticed? It may have been Arthur's focus, but the rest of them had certainly spent a fair share of time researching the mark as well, yet hadn't noticed a word about Fischer being trained against extraction.

Arthur sighed. This was such a Cobb way of approaching things, but he had to admit that he was right—_as usual_. He supposed he did often put quite a bit of pressure on his own shoulders, maybe more than was healthy. It had simply come naturally with taking on the position of point man. Perhaps though, leaving absolutely _no_ room for error wasn't exactly the best way to go.

"But…"

"No 'but's Arthur. If you're going to wallow about this, then I suppose I'll have to go sit in my room for awhile and feel like a failure for all the times you've gotten kneecapped, or tortured, or torn apart by projections—after all, isn't it my job as the lead to make sure everyone else gets through safe?"

And right there were the magic words. Arthur contemplated his friend for a moment, taking in the sincerity in his eyes. A comfortable silence rang between the two companions before Arthur let his mask slip and a smile graced his features.

"I _am _sorry Dom, for everything. But thank you. I suppose you're right." Cobb showed a smile that quickly turned in to an amiable smirk, one saved for teasing friends.

"When am I not?"


End file.
